


The First Time - Mycroft's POV

by Blood_Sucker_1428



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cute, F/M, Gen, Mycroft Holmes Has Feelings, Romance, Sexual Tension, mythea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 21:02:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9460310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blood_Sucker_1428/pseuds/Blood_Sucker_1428
Summary: 2-Year Anniversary special of “A First Time For Everything”, Chapter 121 from Mycroft’s POV. Mycroft has never been that interested in romance and sex. He gave in to the romance when he fell for his assistant. What happens when the return of a certain dress makes the other thing suddenly seem appealing?Mythea.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is the POV fic celebrating two whole years of “A First Time For Everything”. What did I do to deserve to years of love towards this fic? Thank you all so much. I love this fic, I love Sherlock, and I love all of you! This is to say thanks to all of you for being awesome to me. Here’s to many more chapters and seeing where the adventure lies! I hope this lives up to expectations as I really dreaded doing this in Myc’s POV. Please read, comment, and enjoy!
> 
> This is Chapter 121 of my Mythea fic “A First Time For Everything” written in Mycroft’s point of view rather than Anthea’s. It could be read without the original but I’d suggest not for back story reasons.
> 
> Disclaimer: Clearly I don't own Sherlock. The show is the baby of Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, while Sherlock Holmes itself is the creation of Arthur Conan Doyle.

Mycroft didn’t need to look up to know the intruding footsteps into his office belong to his assistant. The footfalls and the sounds of her heels embedded into his brain by this point. He knew what he steps sounded like here, on pavement, in the club, in his kitchen, in his bedroom… He offered he a warm greeting as he continued to work. She’d call for his attention as soon as she was ready.

Sudden foreign objects dropped right into the centre of the file Mycroft was working on, causing him to flinch – his brain expecting it to be something that exploded or stabbed and not something innocuous. Realising nothing was exploding in his face, Mycroft observed the object. Turns out they were tickets. On closer expectation the quality of the tickets showed that they were for a venue suited for concerts or theatre as opposed to cinema or something cheap.

He read the tickets to find they were for the current tour of _L’Ofreo_. It was a beautiful opera that Mycroft had fallen in love with at a young age. He was ten when his parents took him and only him, the others being too young for something so mature. Well, Sherlock would have been frightened. The death and the underworld might have even entertained the other one all the way back then, what with the grotesque. No. Enough of that. Mycroft had never seen another performance of _L’Ofreo_ that had captivated him quite as much and generally stuck to recordings now – however he did go every time it came. He had been eyeing the tickets for a while now, trying to decide whether to go or not. A few nights ago after a few scotches and listening to the recitative, _Tu se’ morta_ from Act 2 he had come close to purchasing a ticket then and there. The internet on his phone had been slow and he couldn’t be bothered logging into a computer so he decided against it. Now Anthea had presented him with a set of tickets. For a show that was not something she’d pick for herself. Mycroft looked up at Anthea and as soon as he did she broke into a grin. The dear thing was obviously trying to do something nice for him, something she might not enjoy. Mycroft took a deep breath.

 “Anthea-” He began only to be cut off.

 “I know you don’t like dealing with people and goldfish.” Anthea sat on the edge of Mycroft’s desk sideways and turned her chest so that she may look at him. “And I know you hate musicals and the like, but I though since you like the music from this, that this might be different.”  She was so animated and excited by the prospect that she’d found something Mycroft might like. It was delightful to watch. Some of the greatest moments from Anthea came out when something excited her. Pursing his lips was all Mycroft could do to stop himself uncharacteristically smiling up at her. Her eyes were bright and her smile so natural and soothing. “And even if we don’t have fun, James got the tickets for free so it’s not like it’s a waste of money.” She crinkled her nose playfully and for a second it almost broke Mycroft’s composure. He was not one to say anything was cute but Anthea was indeed cute when she thought she was funny.

Mycroft sniffed a single laugh. He held his fingers together and placed them against his lips as he looked down at the tickets. She’d gotten them for free, sure, and he wanted to go anyway, yes, but it was an opera. As wonderfully diverse as the woman in front of Mycroft was she had never expressed any interest in opera. She was all about contemporary pop, rock, and punk. Her ex-boyfriend still wore eyeliner and dyed his hair a horrible greasy shade of black. Mycroft wouldn’t want to bore her, particularly since her Italian wasn’t her strongest language. Mycroft leaned forward in his chair.

 “In all honest, my dear,” Mycroft sad. “I had considered going on my own.” Anthea’s smiled faded from the corners of her mouth and her brows twitched downwards for just a moment. Concern? Surprise? Perhaps both. She cocked her head to the side and asked that question everyone always asked about everything.

 “Why?” Mycroft quirked and eyebrow at her. It should be enough to express his inner thoughts, or most of them anyway. Anthea and Mycroft knew each other that well by now. She shook her head, chocolate curls dancing lightly around her jawline. “I’m not going to judge opera before I’ve even been to one.” She leaned closer in on Mycroft’s desk and all he could smell was Chanel Number 4 and the vanilla scent of Anthea’s shampoo. “And you go to things for me all the time.” Oh boy, was that a true statement! “I wanted to do something nice for you.” Isn’t it funny how a statement can have such an effect on you? Those simple works caused a physical reaction in Mycroft. Anthea stating she wanted to do something for him caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up and his lips to pull into a small smile. She was an angel for saying that and he owed her for it alone.

 “This is very generous of you, dear, thank you.” He said, and he meant it. Anthea’s face filled with a strange kind of joy. It was the look he’d seen his parents give each other, and John and Mary Watson give each other. A deep happiness that didn’t come from within yourself but from an external source you view as an extension of yourself. How strange it felt to be on this side of it.

 “You never have to thank me for doing something nice for someone I care about, Mycroft.” She spoke softly and her words were full of all that happiness, and kindness, and perhaps a hint of devotion. It made Mycroft’s chest ache. “You do have to thank me when it’s work related, though.” Ah, there she was. That was Anthea, his assistant. The return of her made Mycroft chuckle. He noted how she shivered when he laughed.

* * *

 

Anthea was excited. She was more than excited, she was ecstatic to be attending her first opera. The fact that she brought not one, but three dresses to Mycroft’s house in order to make up her mind on what to wear at the very last minute spoke volumes for her excitement. She was no doubt trying each one on by how bloody long it was taking the woman to get ready in Mycroft’s ensuite. He did not look forward to the makeup spread out across his counter even though Anthea would clean up after herself once they got home. She was good with that. She understood Mycroft and was quite a tidy person herself. In fact, if dating Anthea had taught Mycroft anything it was how strangely compatible they were. They barely got in each other’s way. Maybe it was years of working together but very few things were a chore with Alice Clarke around.

Mycroft was just finishing off his own apparel with a nice set of silver cufflinks when he heard the door to his ensuite creek open. He keep the door squeaky on purpose, he liked to hear the movements in his house, particularly so close to his bed. He glanced over to confirm that Anthea was ready and upon noting her presence turned back to the mirror.

Then it clicked.

He’d caught a glimpse of red. Not any shade of red, that deep red colour that haunted his memories and popped up from time to time when he closed his eyes.

Mycroft looked back at Anthea.

It was the dress.

It was _the_ dress.

It was that red candy apple dress with the black lace overlay. The one that clung to her hips and then draped gracefully over her long legs. The one that made the colour of her skin pop and looked positively radiant. The one that made her waste look the perfect place to rest one’s hand and brought attention to how her hair danced around that beautiful long neck of hers.

Anthea smiled as Mycroft stared.

Mycroft frowned. He cleared his throat and nodded at her… outfit.

 “That dress?” He asked.

Mycroft _hated_ that dress.

He was not one to view people as attractive. He could recognise beauty easily like anyone with a creative bone in their body could. Anthea was modelesque in her appearance, Charlotte looked like she belonged in black and white films, and James was a strange mixture of cute and handsome. Mycroft could recognise beauty in a flash but from an outsider’s opinion. No one ever made him weak at the knees, no one ever made him want to succumb to any emotion or urge. No one so much as made him double take.

Except Alice Clarke every bloody time she put on that dress. It was worse this time, too. Last time he’d been hit by feelings he couldn’t quite understand. Feelings of affection for his assistant. This time he’d admitted he’d fallen in love with the younger woman and the feelings that this outfit brought out were stronger and far more physical. He really hated it.

Anthea cocked her head to the side.

 “Problem?” She asked.

What was the dress even doing? Why did it make Alice look so appealing? All it did was accentuate her features and her body. Her neck was just as long and succulent in any other dress. Her bare hips would no doubt be just as perfect to rest one’s hand on. The dress was technically hiding her long legs just like the Chanel masked her wonderful natural scent. Really, the dress was just getting in the way.

Oh.

Fantastic.

_Fan-bloody-tastic._

Mycroft turned away from Anthea. He walked over and carefully sat down on the very edge of his bed. He closed his eyes and rubbed at his forehead with the palm of his hands, trying desperately to clear his mind.

He wanted to take that dress off her right now.

No. He really wanted to take it off.

Was the dress really to blame? Or was it a build-up of romantic feelings, a bond, and just the right outfit? Because Mycroft had been noticing how stunning Anthea was lately when she smiled and when she laughed, even when she was bored. But this… He hadn’t felt this way since he was a teenager and didn’t quite understand the hormonal changes.

 “No, not a problem.” Mycroft heard how strained his voice sounded and winced at himself. “The opposite of a problem.” He forced himself to look at her again and this time he tried to distance himself and simply take in details. Her hair and makeup were simply – never one to overdo it. It only enhanced her natural beauty. She wore the sapphire necklace proudly around her neck, the jewel hanging just above her breasts in a sophisticated but alluring way. The dress showed no signs of aging, clearly being taken care of as it made every positive attribute stand out. Then there was Alice as she was. Her beautiful eyes full of care and that naughty sparkle of humour. She had never looked more perfect to Mycroft than she did right now and he needed to remember this. He needed to store this away so he might reflect on it one day should he find himself without her. “You look stunning.”  That word wasn’t enough. “Ravishing. That…”  He trailed off, forgetting the words he was trying to say.

A pause.

Anthea raised her eyebrows.

Mycroft’s eyes averted to the floor and he smiled like earlier stated school boy feeling shy and embarrassed.

 “That dress might as well have been made for you.” He offered.

 “I know.” Anthea breathed. She laughed lightly and it was refreshing to the soul. “I really should wear it more often.”

_Oh please don’t._ Mycroft thought to himself. _If you wear it one more time I might be forced to remove it._

In all honesty he was tempted to remove it now.

_Don’t be absurd. Listen to yourself. You’re supposed to be the Ice Man._

_Emotional context._ That last voice sounded more like Eurus’  than it sounded like his own.

 “Mycroft?” Anthea asked. It was then that Mycroft realised he must have been silent for a long while. He had apparently raised his hand close to his lip and was close to biting his knuckle. It seems even as he was trying to talk himself together he was falling apart. He looked Anthea over again. He really hated that dress. He’d pay good money to stop it taunting him, to stop it covering that perfect body.

_Dear God, you’re just a horny teenager aren’t you?_

_You’re supposed to control yourself._

_You’re better than this._

 “Are you sure you want to go to this?” Mycroft asked and Anthea’s brow furrowed. “I’m sure we could have a lovely evening here…” Apparently he wasn’t better than this.

 “Of course I want to go. We’re ready.” Anthea scoffed. “And you love L’Ofreo.” Mycroft looked down.

_Not as much as I love you._ He thought.

 “I can listen to my recordings any time.” Was what actually came out of his mouth. Anthea made a little noise of disapproval in her throat.

 “Mycroft don’t be stupid. I want to do this for you.” He lowered his hand from his mouth to massage his neck. Maybe if he got rid of some of the tension building up in his body he’d be fine.

 “Hmmm.”

* * *

 

Was it a good production of _L’Ofreo_? Mycroft couldn’t tell you if you asked him. The music was excellent, the performers capable of both acting and singing. The costumes, staging, lighting, all of that might have been good. He can’t recall much other than when he looked between scene changes. It was a shame, too. He had really, really wanted to see this production. He might have to come back on his own after all because that night a long, depressing opera was the last thing Mycroft could focus on.

How could he focus? He’d apparently regressed to a teenaged boy who couldn’t sit still when a beautiful person sat next to him. Anthea was transfixed by the opera and it only made her face look even more stunning. How that girl could adapt and be interested by so many different faucets of life. She was a wonderful creature and Mycroft was blessed to have her in his life. He was also cursed to only realise now, when he couldn’t have her, how nice it would be to have her. He wondered what shape she held under that dress. He wondered how easy it would be to bruise the skin on her collarbone with his teeth. He knew the neck would be far more satisfying but a hickey a bruise on the neck would be far too obvious for work.

_Stop it._

_You can think about this objectively but stop getting so bloody involved._

But how could he not when this smart, impish, loyal creature sat there looking like Titania taunting Oberon with what he could no longer have. Oberon used magic to his advantages. Mycroft had no such tricks. If anything, Anthea had found the potion to transfix one and was now toying with him.

_Now you’re thinking whimsical thoughts._

_What is wrong with you?_

Mycroft fidgeted in his seat, trying again to clear his brain and reconstruct all his walls.

What was the point in building up these walls, anyway? A few hours later and they’d be sharing a taxi. Then it would be the smell of her that got to Mycroft. And why on Earth was he fighting these urges? They popped up from time to time. Usually Mycroft dealt with them by finding a goldfish he’d never have to find again. Man or woman, it didn’t matter as long as they left him alone afterwards. Not like they could track him. So why fight when Anthea wanted this? Maybe it was just that time again. Maybe it was her but did it really matter? He’d been saying not yet to her for so long. What would giving in do?

_Like giving in to a cigarette?_

_Or a piece of cake?_

_Or giving in and letting your sister have that 5 minute meeting with Moriarty._

Giving in always lead to bad decisions.

Mycroft pulled out his pocket watch. There was still so much time left until it ended. He wasn’t sure if he sat next to Anthea for that much longer that he’d be able to hold himself back.

And yet… As Mycroft gazed at Anthea’s profile he had to be reminded of what an impulse the woman was for him. He’d decided from one conversation with her that she’d be a good assistant. He gave in to years of strange feelings to kiss her and even more pent up emotions to finally date her. That woman was a prime example of how sometimes giving in and doing something you normally wouldn’t do turned out for the best.

And he knew her so well. She’d be so easy to manipulate under his touch. Mycroft had no doubt in a few seconds he’d find all the right places to make her squirm and squeal. She’d be like putty in his hands and that thought alone was absolutely decadent and delightful. Just the thought of it excited him.

 “Are you okay?” Anthea asked in a normal volume – not in hushed whispered as expected. It was then that Mycroft realised he was still staring at his pocket watch.

 “Hmmm?” He asked, looking up. The house lights were on. It seemed that they’d reached an interval while Mycroft was thinking. He forced a smile onto his lips and nodded. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Anthea frowned as she leaned in closer to him. The Chanel was starting to wear off.

 “You just don’t seem very interested in the stage. You spend more time looking at me…” She was always so observant of him. Just another reason she was a wonderful assistant and a great asset in Mycroft’s life, even if it sometimes hindered him.

 “I care far more for the music than for the actors.” Mycroft rolled his eyes. It was not a lie. “And why look at them when you’re here.” The inner teenager who was transfixed with this woman said. Anthea sniffed and her frown softened. She hadn’t believed him but she thought it was nice none the less.

 “Then why do you keep looking at your watch?” She challenged.

 “Oh.” Mycroft sighed dismissively. “I forgot how long it was.”

 “It’s not that long.”

 “Really?” Mycroft mumbled solemnly as he turned back to the stage, willing it silently to continue so it may end sooner. “It feels like it’s taking an eternity. How fitting.” Maybe this was his hell.

* * *

 

As the applause began roaring and the house lights came up for the final time Mycroft practically bounced out of his seat. He took Anthea’s hand in his own, for once cherishing the warmth in her hand, and began walking towards the exit of their private box. Unfortunately it was not private enough. Miss Adler might disagree.

 “Let’s go.” Anthea’s face was full of surprise as she looked back at the stage longingly.

 “What?” She asked full of confusion as Mycroft dragged her along. “Why? Don’t you want to stop and have a drink first? Talk about it?”

_No._

He did not want a drink. He did not want to talk. He wanted to see if the real thing matched the image in his head.

 “I have better alcohol at home.” He said, technically not lying again, and squeezed Anthea’s hand in what he assumed was a tender manner. He hoped that would be enough for her to get it.

 “What about food? Do you want to get something to eat?” Anthea’s words almost made Mycroft laugh bitterly. She was a normal person. Unlike Mycroft, Anthea felt these things, these urges on a regular basis. She should understand it and recognise it easier than Mycroft could dream of. He groaned in desperation.

 “No, not really.”

 “You’re not hungry?” Anthea asked, sounding lightly surprised. He knew they hadn’t eaten much. He knew he’d normally be starving and Anthea would be hungry. However food was the last thing he was thinking about right now. He’d rather bite the china dolls skin and she if he can leave a mark on the porcelain. He inhaled sharply as he realised he’d obviously condition Anthea to view him as incapable of these thoughts. He’d have to be more obvious about it. So he lowered his hand from her hand to the small of her back and then slid it onto the hip. He was right about his deduction, he hip was a perfect place to rest one’s hand.

 “Mycroft.” It was almost a yelp in surprise as her body jumped at the new, intimate touch. Mycroft stopped walking and turned to face Anthea. Her eyes were active and bright, her lips pouting just enough to make her lips look full and bizarrely inviting. Was she always so beautiful? Mycroft just… he needed to touch her, to outline that face. He started by using his free hand to tuck a curl behind her ear the way she would, using it as an excuse to touch the skin behind her ear at the back of her jaw.

 “All I want to do is go home and spend some time with you.” He said. Continuing his outline of the shape of Anthea’s face, Mycroft he traced her jaw with his thumb and he could see how Anthea tingled and turned ablaze by the touch. It made his chest close up but not in a frightening way – in a good way.

 “If that’s what you want.” Anthea shrugged with a lift of a single shoulder. So playful and aloof. So wonderful. “This is your night.” Ha. If only she could read him now. Mycroft watched Anthea’s eyes and slowly his gaze made it down to her nose then to her lips. Such nice feminine lips. He did always prefer a female’s kiss to a male’s, and Anthea was far more than some stupid little girl. Mycroft pursed his own lips and nodded.

He needed to take Anthea home.

* * *

 

As they walked into the entrance hall of Mycroft’s house, Mycroft closed the door slowly and carefully behind him. It had been exhausting holding himself together in the car with Walter there to judge him. Now that they were in the privacy of his house it was both easier and harder at the same time. It took focus to keep calk and together but the thought of what he was going to do made it easier and worth the wait.

He could feel Anthea’s eyes on him as he moved to look up and look at her. My God, she was wonderful, all of her together that was. Another creature with her personality or another beauty without it might not be as captivating. Why was she even here? Why was she with a man like Mycroft when she could have almost anyone? She could have had James, she could whistle and the lawyer would come running, Irene Adler had made a comment or two about her. Here she was, her nose twitching cutely as she watched him just as carefully in return.

 “Are you okay?” She asked. Mycroft almost laughed at the question. No. No he wasn’t okay. He was the opposite of okay. He licked his lips and smile gently at the stunning creature who was willingly in his house. He nodded twice.

 “I’m just thinking.”

 “All night?” Anthea questioned his behaviour. She swallowed air. “What about?”

 “About you.” He answered honestly. “About how beautiful you are.” She gained that coy, naughty expression of hers that she had quite clearly developed as a child to get past her parents when she was caught misbehaving.

 “You mean as aesthetically beautiful as a coffee table?” She joked, using Mycroft’s drunk words against him. He couldn’t help but smile as he looked down at his shoes and nodded.

 “Yes, like that.” He looked back up. “But not only that, my love. You’re wonderfully patient, and you’ve worked so hard not to be judgemental.” Anthea probably didn’t notice but she stepped closer as Mycroft spoke. “That alone makes you far more beautiful than most of the people on this planet.” The colour flushed out of her face.

 “Mycroft,” She pushed her hair out of her face and Mycroft knew she was beginning to feel the heat. Finally. “You’re acting-”

 “Human?” He cut her off. “I know.”

 “Seriously, is something wrong?” She asked, concern on her lovely features. Mycroft looked down at his feet again. He didn’t know what to say. Yes maybe? Because yes something was wrong. Something was frightfully wrong. Or no? Because no, normal people felt like this all the time. Finding no words to express himself Mycroft looked back up and began to approach Anthea. “Because if there’s something wrong,” She continued to express that wonderful concern that he absolutely did not deserve. He once again had to touch her. He reached out and placed his hand against her cheek. It was so soft – cold at first touch but hot under the surface. He wondered if all her skin felt that way… “You know you can talk to me about i-”

He kissed her. Mycroft kissed Anthea deeply and passionately. He kissed her like the first time they kissed – full of so much lust, heat, and love that they both lost themselves within that kiss. Finally Mycroft’s mind shut off and stopped talking and all he could even think about was Anthea. About how she moaned when he deepened the kiss further, and how incredible her hands felt linked behind his neck, delicate and soft but so strong. On instinct alone Mycroft pushed Anthea against the wall, one of his legs between her legs, both his hands touching the wall. This was the most human Mycroft had felt in years and it felt kind of good. Or rather, Anthea felt good. Everything about her felt good.

And then she pulled away. She turned her face away from his and took a deep breath. Her colour was even more drained except for the pink in her cheeks. Her eyes were wild as she tried to restrain herself.

 “Mycroft, stop.” Her voice was pleading, she sounded like she might cry. She placed her hands flat against his chest as she turned back and looked at his tie. He could smell her shampoo again. “If we keep going,” Her voice shook. “I don’t think I’d have the strength to stop.” A devilish pleasure washed through Mycroft’s body and he realised his brain was still silent from the kiss.

 “Who said anything about stopping?” He asked. Anthea looked up and searched his eyes, reading them the way she always did. She was one of the few people who could read them and see through the steel barriers. Finding whatever she found in his eyes, Anthea leaned against the wall and turned away. Her heartbeat had increase, Mycroft could see it in the pulse in Anthea’s neck. She wanted this too.

 “Oh.” She pouted her lips. She really wanted this. She had wanted this for a long time. Maybe if Mycroft told Anthea what he’d been thinking all night long she’d see how much he wanted it… Or it would be just enough to push her over the edge with him. He leaned in close to her ear.

 “My dear, that dress looks so good on you,” He whispered. “That I want to take it off you.” Behind Anthea’s eyes you could see when her brain froze. Her breath caught in her throat and she blinked. It was like watching a computer trying to close unresponsive programs. She turned back to him and finally exhaled a breath.

 “Okay, but don’t rip it.”

That was all the permission Mycroft needed. He pounced on the unsuspecting assistant, pulling her deep into another kiss. He kissed her with a ferocity and heat he’d never shared with anyone. Before today he’d doubt he was capable of such passion. His hands we on her waist again, feeling the fabric against his palms and his fingers and imagining the skin underneath it. Her hands were gripping to his shoulders, digging into them. As he continued to hiss her, her hands came down to his silk tie and began to undo it. Soon he felt it hanging loosely around his neck. She done it so gently – always so aware of everything about him.

Mycroft stopped the kiss. He had to. He had been reminded of whom he was kissing and he just had to look at her again. Alice Clarke. Her soft chestnut curls that framed her face, her bright humour full eyes, that cheeky smile always threatening to show on those soft lips. Such a wonderful creature. Why was she his? What had Mycroft Holmes done in his life to deserve this opportunity with the wonderful bruised flower that was Alice Clarke? What allowed her to look at him the same way he was looking at her? Maybe he did have the love potion after all. Like Titania falling in love with Bottom who had been transfixed into a donkey. It did not make sense any other way. He’d better have her before she awoke from her spell.

Mycroft took Anthea’s hands in his own and guided her up the stairs.

They ended up in his bedroom. His secret place that only belonged to him, and now her. Guiding Anthea over to the bed, Mycroft practically placed her down to sit on her side of the bed. She sat there, perched, waiting as Mycroft made one more mental photo of this exquisite sight.

Once he had that memories he went back to Anthea and began kissing her neck. It was as supple as he’d imagined it would be. The strong woman leant into the feeling of his lips on her neck, moaning in pleasure. As he continued to experiment with places on her neck Anthea began fumbling with the buttons on Mycroft’s shirts. It was taking her a long time to do each button. If she’d lost attention purely from a kiss what would happen if he got to do what he really wanted to do to her skin. Smirking into her neck, Mycroft gently nibbled at the skin. She stopped progress on Mycroft’s shirt and gasped full of surprise and pleasure. It was a beautiful noise. It was an inviting noise.

Mycroft went to bite Anthea again only to feel her hands against his chest – skin and shirt. Taking it to mean stop, he did so and allowed himself to be pushed away from her heat.

 “Stop.” She hissed, out of breath. He didn’t want to stop, he wanted her so badly, but her words were serious. So he stopped looking at her neck and met her eyes. “Are you sure?” She asked. Mycroft closed his eyes and took a breath.

_She’s stopping for you, you idiot. She’s so concerned about all your little issues she’s stopping herself._

_Do you see what happens when you’re problematic all the time?_ His brain had woken up again.

 “You don’t have to do this.” If he had a heart those words might have broken it. It wasn’t the words alone but the way she had said them. Like she didn’t want to say them but meant them all the same. How she cared so deeply for those around her… Mycroft pursed his lips.

 “I’m sure.” He nodded. He had to make sure Anthea understood how much he wanted this. How much he wanted her and to make her happy. “I’m very sure.” She nodded back at him, her lips pouting.

Anthea continued on the buttons of Mycroft’s shirt and this time she planted her own little kiss against the skin of Mycroft’s neck. It was electric. The touch made his skin tingle with electricity and yet he did not want to pull away from it. In fact, he wanted it to continue. He wanted more. So his slender hands moved to Anthea’s back and blindly found the zip of that stupid dress. Finally he was getting his way and he’d be able to remove that annoying piece of cloth. He began pulling the zip down.

Anthea pulled away hard and fast so that she fell back on the bed and out of reach. Mycroft blinked at the sudden change.

 “Because I don’t want to rush you.” She was talking fast like a frightened child who was hyped up on sugar. Mycroft felt the cold empty air against his hands. There hand once been a warm body in those hands, and fine material being removed by those hands. Now Anthea was talking to him like he was being hesitant. It was insane. It was all his own fault but it was still insane. “This is a huge thing for you, and I really don’t want you to regret it.” He couldn’t even hear her words properly. Not well enough to actually decipher them, anyway. He focused on breathing steadily as he ran a hand through his hair. He closed his hands into fists and opened them again.

 “Anthea.” Mycroft breathed steadily.

 “Yeah?” She spoke slower now and she had leaned within touching distance again.

 “Stop talking.” Mycroft spoke like an order. She opened her mouth again. _“Please”_ he begged her. “Stop talking.” He pleaded with her. Anthea licked her lips deliciously and nodded again.

 “Only if you want to.” Her words were truly gentle as she nodded once more. What an angel she was. Mycroft leaned in and kiss her as gently as she had spoken to him. She wrapped her hands around his neck and kiss him between his eye and his ear. “Because I love you.” Ouch. Mycroft’s chest ached with an inhumane pain. How those words caused his body to react so physically every time she said it he’d never truly understand. He stroked her face again. He started by stroking her cheek and moving down to trace her lovely jaw once more.

 “I know.” He spoke, all the ache from his heart coming through his words. “And I love you, too.”

Apparently his words had the same effect on her that hers had on him because she leapt forward. She told hold of each side of Mycroft’s open shirt and pulled him into her and kissed him.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man! I HOPE that lived up to expectations! It has been a long time since I wrote a Myc POV and this chapter was so well loved I worried about ruining it. I really hope that at the very least I didn’t ruin the original. This was written for you guys so please tell me. Thanks for reading and really, thanks for supporting me all this time. I just adore being in the Sherlock fandom!


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